


On A Strange Day

by orphan_account



Series: White Knight [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Everyone lives, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No war, Past Harry/George, established relationships - Freeform, reliving memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12486636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sequel to The Devil's White Knight.“Did you like me?  Did other people like me?  Was I the same at all?  Was there something in old me that made you think that all of it would be worth it, or were you just biding your time with some piece of shit until you could havememe back?"Draco licked his lips, then said, “You weren’t all bad, no.  Okay?  Is that good enough?  Can I please sleep now?”But it wasn't enough, and Harry knew he'd have to find some other way to learn what the Old Harry was truly like.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mxlfoydraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlfoydraco/gifts).



> So this is the official sequel to The Devil's White Knight. It took me a while to sort out the plot, but I think I've got it. It will contain scenes of Harry/George, but it's not the active ship, so it's not tagged, but be warned, since it's there.
> 
> Special thank you and dedication to my salt-mate Serra for letting me yell about this and for enabling my saltiness and middle of the night fanfic ideas.
> 
> I'm not sure about an update schedule since I am in grad school, but I'll be trying to get this 100% finished by the end of December.

I close my eyes  
Move slowly through drowning waves  
Going away  
On a strange day  
-The Cure

*** 

“…freshly cleaned and ready to go. Yes, yes, you can tell me how much you love me later. Right now I plan to get so pissed I can’t remember my name.” Harry grinned at Remus who hitched Teddy up on his hip, then leant in and gave Teddy a wet, loud kiss on his cheek. “See you next weekend, yeah?”

“Ba,” Teddy said with all the seriousness of a toddler.

Harry laughed, then gave Remus a quick side-hug before walking back to the table where his friends were all sat. It wasn’t entirely comfortable—his group of people were still not overly keen on the idea that Harry and Malfoy were a _thing_ now—even in this Universe they didn’t entirely love Malfoy, even if they’d put up with the Old Harry who was a bit of a twat. But it felt better than it had in months. Ron was busy scribbling away on some parchment that Harry was determinedly not asking about. Ginny was leaning back with her feet in Luna’s lap, enjoying a massage after her game. Fred was turned round in his chair, whispering something to Angelina who was at another table with a group of other reporters, and George was sat with a half-gone pint, looking only vaguely irritated that his boyfriend was taking so long to arrive.

Sometimes Harry found himself overwhelmed with the idea that they were all here—just like this. That he could get into a floo and find himself stood in his parents’ lounge, with photos of himself growing up, with a sibling, with two dads and a mum, with an entire history of growing up and not almost being murdered at every turn. That his godfather was alive, that his godson had four parents who loved him beyond reason, that every single one of the people Harry had grown up with survived into adulthood—some with spouses and children and mundane careers.

Sometimes it struck him that the hand on his thigh belonged to Draco Malfoy—Draco, who didn’t have a Dark Mark, who hadn’t ever had to face the worst horrors of the world and himself. Draco, who had done all of this for _him_ , had re-written the bloody universe.

It was the most bizarre and dangerous gift anyone had ever given him, and Harry wasn’t quite sure how to live with it, yet.

But he also wasn’t looking a gift-horse in the mouth.

He’d been settled in nearly half a year after making his choice not to put things back the way they were. That the other universe was better off re-written, that no one wanted the burnt-out, hollow shell that had once been. He could live with his own trauma knowing that no one else had to.

Well, almost no one.

He supposed in a morbid way he was grateful at least one other person understood, even if he truly wouldn’t wish that misery on anyone. Even his worst enemy—who was now one of the people he loved most in the world.

“Saint Potter,” Fred said when Harry sank back into his chair.

Harry started a bit in his seat, hearing that phrase in a very different voice. The way Draco’s hand tightened on his thigh, he wasn’t the only one. “Shut up,” he said instead of any of that. He knew they were getting used to him, too, but they were having a far easier time of things than he was most days.

Fred rolled his eyes, but laughed as he righted himself in his seat and took a long gulp of his pint. “I just didn’t think we’d ever see the day Potter was kissing a baby. A werewolf baby, at that.”

“He’s not a werewolf,” Harry said automatically, then flushed. “Not that it matters. He’s cute, and he’s my godson…” He stopped, because no, Teddy wasn’t. Not here. “Or well, god…something. Whatever. He’s cute. Who doesn’t like cute babies?”

Both Ginny and Draco raised their hands, and Harry reached under the table with his feet and kicked at them both.

“I’m just saying,” Fred said, shrugging as he finished off his beer, “it’s kind of relaxing that you’re not going to turn into Prat Potter all over again.”

“God, he was a nightmare,” Ginny muttered.

There was a collective agreement, which made something inside Harry’s squirm until George’s voice cut through saying, “He wasn’t all bad. Not…entirely.” His face was pointed toward the table, his hands moving a little restlessly on his glass, and there was a faint pink under his freckles.

“You’re biased,” Fred said, as though they had this conversation before. It was entirely possible they had.

George shrugged. “No one’s _all_ bad.”

Harry had proof that wasn’t true. He had ardent proof that hit too close to home, and so did the man sat next to him whose grip on his thigh had gone painful. Harry sighed. “Well anyway, I like cute babies, and I’m not a prat. Can we move on?”

They did, but something about the conversation stuck for Harry, and it went home with him as he and Draco linked hands and apparated away.

*** 

“Fuck. Oh my god, I’m going to fucking die. Merlin, just like that.” Harry’s head fell backward with a loud thud, his entire body burning hot with flush as Draco attempted to suck his brains out through his dick. His hips were moving with a rhythm, mostly held in place by Draco’s firm hands, but he could feel himself building, cresting, ready to beg for the orgasm if Malfoy didn’t hurry things along.

Luckily, Draco seemed to be in a more amiable mood, because he gave a good, long pull with his mouth, suckling at the tip of Harry’s cock, and the shifting of his foreskin was just exactly what he needed to come a long, hot stripe on Draco’s tongue.

He regained his senses a few moments later, looking down at Draco who was swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He was flush-pink, blooming love-bites along his collarbone which would probably fade to nothing by morning. His own cock sat flaccid between his legs, having been worked up until he came crying Harry’s name in the shower. They were still a little wet, Harry’s hair a mess—though when was it not—and neither of them bothered with pyjamas.

Reaching down, Harry yanked Draco up by the hand, pausing to kiss the inside of his wrist before tugging him to the bed. The sheets were cooler than he liked, but it took no time at all for the pair of them to burrow beneath the duvet. The fire in the corner of the room was dying down, leaving a faint, orange glow along the walls, and Harry didn’t bother reaching for his wand to get it going again.

“Malfoy.”

Draco hummed, rolling slightly to his side, fixing one, grey eye on Harry’s face.

“When did I start shagging George?”

Draco sighed, rolling into his back, putting both hands over his face. “Why? Didn’t your parents give you all those memories?”

“Well.” Harry bit his lip, wanting to reach for Draco, but he could tell by the line of tension in his shoulders, he didn’t want to be touched. “Yes. Nearly everyone contributed, and I’m sure the stuff about George is in there, but I’ve…I haven’t…”

“Not brave enough to look just yet?” Draco’s smirk was teasing, but there was something in his eyes Harry was unused to. He couldn’t read it, not quite, but it looked on the edge of insecure, and that was very unlike him.

“It’s not the same,” Harry said after a long moment, and when Draco made a humming noise, Harry shrugged. “I mean, it’s their memories, you know? Biased, from their point of view. I’ve no idea what the other Harry was thinking…”

“Other Harry is—was—you,” Draco said, his tone taking on the irritation he always got when Harry tried to separate the two.

“Well I need to separate it somehow, and trying to work through this bloody, fucking paradox you created is impossible if I don’t think of him as a separate person.” Harry didn’t mean to sound cross, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe in five years, maybe in ten, it would all just…be normal. He’d have a decade of new life lived and all the other stuff from before would start to feel like a bad dream, an ugly fantasy he’d concocted. But right now it was still too fresh, too real. There might not have been a scar on his forehead, but the phantom pains hadn’t stopped.

Draco gave him an unimpressed stare, then said, “Why do you care about it so much? They’ve all told you what it was like. I don’t see why you need the details…”

“Because it’s _me_ ,” Harry said, then huffed a quiet breath and pushed himself up to a sit. He stared down at Malfoy who was determinedly not looking at him, and sighed. “I have to believe there’s something else there, besides some twat who hated werewolves and thought he was better than everyone.”

“Why?” Draco pressed. “Why do you think there would be?”

“Because there was in you,” Harry said, and he watched as Draco’s eyes went wider. “There was in you, and I need to…I just want to know that even if I had grown up to be every bit the spoilt little dipshit Snape thought I was, there was still hope there. Because it…because it _is_ me. It’s not some evil moustache universe person.”

Draco’s jaw clenched—Harry could see the way it tensed in his temple—and he breathed out through his nose. “Well I don’t know what you want me to tell you…”

“You and I arrived on the same day,” Harry said.

Realising this wasn’t going to be over quickly or easily, Draco rolled onto his stomach, then propped his head up and stared at Harry flatly. “Yes. You know this.”

“You and I came to on the exact same second, with your mouth round my cock.”

Draco’s cheeks pinked, but he nodded and didn’t break his gaze. “Yes.”

“Then I buggered off and you used the fobwatch and went back to relive most of your childhood,” Harry said.

“You’re welcome to the same, if you really can’t get over—”

“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Harry snarked, cutting him off.

“So get to the fucking point, Potter,” Draco all-but growled back.

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face, then thumped his head backward against the wall. “Creating the inevitable loop which would lead to you sucking me off in bed, you clearly had to get to know me. Old Harry, who would let you suck his cock.”

“Yes,” Draco said, sounding decidedly less patient. “Imagine my surprise when it happened, and yet I had to go back in time and ensure we’d have this exact same scenario when I lived that timeline all over again.”

Harry licked his lips. “You wanted to, though. You were already in love with me.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco hissed, pushing his face into the pillow. “Yes. I don’t know what you want from…”

“Did you like me? Did other people like me? Was I the same at all? Was there something in old me that made you think that all of it would be worth it, or were you just biding your time with some piece of shit until you could have _me_ me back. What…sort of person was I that George Weasley would defend me, even still? Would want to shag me? I know he’s got no shortage of people who want him so…”

Draco licked his lips, then said, “You weren’t all bad, no. Okay? Is that good enough? Can I please sleep now?”

Harry realised this conversation was getting nowhere fast. Getting Malfoy to talk about feelings, or anything about what he’d done or how he’d lived his childhood a second time, was like getting blood from a stone. And Harry didn’t have the strength for it. But he also knew he wasn’t going to be okay just letting it go. He was too invested in himself, which was strange, but he supposed in this situation, also totally normal.

*** 

“Seriously, I know you have a job. I know for a fact you’re flying again.” George leant over his desk, hands clasped under his chin, eyebrows high into his hairline. “Why are you here? Is this some stalker thing? Is _good_ Harry also a stalker?”

“Shut up,” Harry groused, petting a pygmy puff which was perched on his shoulder. It made a strange, trilling noise and nuzzled against his neck. “I can’t believe you lot still invented these things.”

“Invented is such a strong word,” George said. He reached for a stack of papers on his desk, pulling them close and running his hands over the braille at the top. “I actually do have work so…”

“Was I always an arsehole?” Harry blurted. He felt bad when George’s hands stilled, and he put the back under his chin with a small sigh. “Sorry I…I just. I need to know.”

“I gave you all the memories I had, Potter,” George said carefully. “Your dad said he could sort them so they wouldn’t be wonky when you dove in, so if there’s a problem, take it up with him.”

“No I…I haven’t…” Harry swallowed, then set the puff down on the small table next to him. “I haven’t gone in.”

“Why not?” George asked, sounding genuinely curious. “You’ve been obsessing about this since you got here.”

“Yeah I…” Harry dragged a hand down over his mouth with a tiny groan. “I know. It just seems like I won’t learn what I need to know if I do that. I’ll only learn what everyone else knew.”

“Isn’t that the point? Jesus, Harry, did your head get knocked round when you were falling into this world or…”

“It’s me. I mean, I’m me. I mean,” Harry stopped with a groan. “The universe was re-written. Erased and re-written, and I know it’s a fucking paradox, but it’s still me.”

After a long pause, George stood up, came round the desk, and walked toward Harry. His hand out, he found the chair next to Harry’s and sat, turning his face, his expression a mask of patience which was strange to see on one of the twins. “What are you asking me, exactly?”

“You cared about him,” Harry said, soft and a little bit miserable. “About me. Who I was before I…erm. Took over. You did, right? You always say he wasn’t all bad, but no one’s been able to actually offer me any proof of that, and I think I know I would have at least had the _chance_ of turning out alright in the end. Because it’s still me.” Harry let out a trembling breath. “I need to know that I’m not just a nice person because I was tortured by a megalomaniac from age eleven.”

George’s expression shifted into something considering, also something Harry was unused to seeing, but maybe it was because in his old life, he hadn’t spent enough time with Fred and George to truly know them. Enough to care, of course. Of course he cared, but to know them?

“I loved him,” George said after a while, and those words shook Harry to his core.

“You…”

“I loved him,” George repeated. “I loved pieces of him that he only showed me, pieces of him that were…they were real, but they weren’t all of him, and I’m not sure that it would ever be enough for him to overcome all that other shit, to make him what other people might consider a decent wizard, but he wasn’t all bad. No one’s all bad.”

“Some people are,” Harry said, his voice tight.

George sighed. “You’d know better than I would.”

Harry bit back his retort, because it wasn’t fair that this George didn’t know that first hand. This George still had every member of his family alive and well, and Harry wouldn’t trade that for anything.

“It’s not enough to satisfy, is it?” George asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know.”

With a tiny laugh, George sat back, crossing his arms. “You’re still you, and I know you’re lying.”

Harry rolled his eyes, then told George he was doing it, feeling better when he made George laugh. “I don’t know what to do about it, is the problem. I know what I chose, but I hate having this entire, other life I know nothing about apart from fragments of memories people offered up like some kind of sacrifice.” Harry bit his lip. “Draco keeps telling me I can use the fobwatch to go back, to relive it, but I’d be doing that as myself. And I…I’ve taken enough away from everyone by staying. I can’t take that too.”

“From what I understand,” George said, his tone careful, “if you’d undone all of it, we’d just go back to that other place. Where half the people we loved were dead.”

“Reckon so,” Harry said, though he knew that perfectly well. “I still don’t think I can re-write any more of this reality.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” George said mildly. “The Harry I loved is gone, but I lost him a long time ago, anyway. If I ever had him at all. But he meant something to me and I’d…like to keep it.”

Harry licked his lips, then said, “How are things going with Lee?”

After a moment, George laughed. “We’re done then?”

“For now,” Harry admitted.

“Then why don’t you fuck off and let me get back to work? Why not pester your dads? I’m willing to bet they have a better solution to this whole mess than I do.”

*** 

The moment Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the cottage, he realised even if his parents didn’t know what to do about his problem, it was a good place to go. It was strange that this had become a sort of touchstone for him—people he’d never known, had fantasised about growing up, and had somehow turned out even better. Or maybe he was biased now that he could reach out and pull them close any time he wanted.

Weeks after choosing to stay, Harry finally got to meet his mother, and it was somehow better and worse than he’d anticipated. She’d never been close with him, and she seemed fairly uncertain how to go forward with a kid who had never really given a shit about her before, who now wanted to spend every waking moment making up for so fucking many years of believing her to be dead.

But she was Lily, and she loved him, and she understood. She’d held it together when James had told her everything, but that night Harry had come halfway down the stairs to hear her crying, and James trying to soothe her.

“I knew it. I knew they’d…fucking hell, James. They didn’t even do it in this life, and I still want to go murder them for what they put him through. How do I live with that?”

“You can’t punish someone for something they never did,” James said quietly. “But all the same, it’s been a near thing when I think about it some nights. But he’s here and he’s safe. He can get better.”

“Does it ever stop feeling strange?” she asked softly, her voice still thick with emotion.

James just sighed and said, “I don’t think so. But I suppose all we can do is give it time.”

It hadn’t felt like they regretted Harry’s choice, but all the same he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d robbed them of their child. And had robbed himself of a chance to be better, all on his own merits. That would never happen—he’d come to accept that, but he needed to know he could have. He needed to know something. That he was more than just…someone who would have easily—too easily—become a Death Eater. 

A Dark Lord.

He shuddered, but squared his shoulders and walked into the kitchen where he saw Regulus at the table reading the Prophet, and James at the sink waving his wand toward where the dishes were washing up.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Regulus said mildly.

Harry rubbed his hand through his hair. “Ah. Yeah, I know. I erm. I had a question. Problem. Er…”

James turned to him, a brow quirked, and Harry wondered if he’d ever get tired of noticing how similar they were, how _alive_ they were. “Is this an alternate universe problem?”

“Oh my god,” Harry groaned, mostly because it was—in a way—and he wondered if they’d ever get to a point where he could walk in with a normal person problem.

“It is though, isn’t it?” James pressed.

“He’s bored,” Regulus said simply. “His cases have all been boring since he solved the mystery of the sodding universe.”

Harry rolled his eyes, then plonked into a seat near Regulus whilst James got some tea ready. “It’s more of a personal thing, I guess. About erm…my memories.”

The masala chai was rich, spicy, and perfect, and Harry basked in the taste of it as James took a seat and set out a bowl of a strange, puffy sort of sweet.

“Is something faulty with the pensive? I can have a look if you…”

“That’s not entirely it,” Harry said, then rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not…” He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain. “I was hoping there might be a way for me to experience it. The memories. Not just watch, but feel them, you know? Without having to use that horrifying fobwatch and relive my teenage years.”

James smirked a little, shaking his head. “Merlin forbid. But Haz, I’m not sure that’s something you can do. That’s not how memories work.”

“I know,” Harry said with a dejected sigh. “I know, I just…thought I’d ask.”

Regulus set the paper down and gave him a considering look. “Why?”

Harry blinked owlishly. “Why what?”

“Why do you want to experience them? Why is watching not enough?”

“Regs,” James said tiredly, but Harry held out a hand.

“No, it’s fine. If I’m being honest, I feel this sort of compulsion to know what it was like, to sort of live it, without having to change it. It’s still me, right? The spell re-wrote my memories, forced me to retain them from another life, but this is still me. And I want to see that I had…hope, I guess? That it wasn’t just torture that made me sympathetic.”

James and Regulus exchanged a look, then Regulus sat back and crossed his arms. “I have a potion that might help with that. It’s…tricky. There are risks…”

“No,” James said pointedly.

Harry glowered at him. “That’s not exactly your choice to make. And I don’t want to relive everything, if that helps.”

“It does,” Regulus said slowly. “It’ll only sustain a few anyway, without the risk of you going comatose. You’ll have to choose what’s most important.”

Harry gnawed on his bottom lip, letting a sigh out through his nose, and ignored the glare James was giving him. “How many?”

“Four, maybe five,” Regulus said. “Nothing longer than a full day.”

Harry ruffled his hair again, then nodded. “Alright.”

“No,” James said. “Look, I love you Harry, I really do, but I’m not sure I trust you to not go too far if you get caught up.”

“So you can supervise,” Harry said plainly. “But I don’t think I can keep living like this if I don’t have some idea of who I was before all this. You don’t…you’ve no idea what it’s like to live with this horrific person you used to be hanging over your head. Every time you lot look at me, I can’t help but wonder…” He trailed off, because it was too much for words, really.

James’ face softened. “Four. And a half day each. That’s my compromise.” When Harry opened his mouth to argue, James cut him off. “No. I’m sorry, but I won’t risk it, I won’t risk you. All of that before—it was already so much. You have to work with us, too, here.”

Regulus nodded. “I’m sorry, but I agree with him.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, but he supposed that four half-day memories would suffice, so long as he chose well. “Give me a week,” he said. “I need to sort through them, decide what I want to know most. What would…what would help most.”

James and Regulus both nodded, then James said, “Is there any way we can help?”

Harry’s brain was already whirring through what he wanted to know, what he thought was most important. When his dad spoke, he glanced up. “When did it start with Malfoy? And when did it end with George?”

The pair of them looked startled, but James shrugged and said, “I think it was round the same time. You and Malfoy became closer near the end of your seventh year. We thought maybe you and George were going to become a thing, but about six months into your first quidditch season, he ended things.”

“And then Malfoy…”

“Seemed to be a bit of an open secret,” James said. “You never came right out and said it. We sort of assumed you were having an affair, and that’s why you two split up.”

“Alright,” Harry said, very quiet. “I need to go home and have a long think. But I…thank you.”

“Whatever we can do,” Regulus said, sounding very sincere. “I can’t imagine what this is like, and I won’t put you in danger again, but this little bit…”

“It’s enough,” Harry said, and looked him in the eye to show him that he was telling the truth.

It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t everything, but it was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a quick outline for this fic, there will be interlude chapters--like this one--which will come in between the memory chapters, the first of which will be the next chapter I post. Interlude chapters will be shorter, so probably updated faster, and just a fair warning that this fic WILL include detailed Harry/George relationship, even if it is in the past, so just be aware of that going forward. Still a Drarry, but this is exploring Other!Harry's past.
> 
> Anyway sorry for the slow updating, but RL is kicking my arse right now. I'm hoping to have this done before the end of Dec though, so at least there's that x Thanks for the comments so far, they have entirely made writing this worth it <3

Harry groaned, his head falling back hard, forgetting he was close enough to the headboard to make it hurt. But the sting wasn’t enough to take away from the pleasure as Draco sucked him down, pulling off with a wet pop only to attach his mouth to Harry’s hip. He left a waterfall of lovebites along his skin, visible against the deep brown, nipping and laving at them with the flat of his tongue before getting back to work on Harry’s cock.

It was…a lot. It was so much. Harry was half-sure Draco was trying to suck his rationality and reason straight out of his dick, and it felt like he was accomplishing it as Harry’s fingers curled into the sheets, and his hips stuttered, and he came right there on Draco’s tongue. His head was cloudy as he eased himself down to the pillows, feeling a cold brush of air as Draco passed his hand over Harry’s midsection, clearing up what little mess had slipped out between Draco’s swollen lips.

Then there was warmth behind him, the lithe, slim body curling up against Harry’s back, Draco’s head pushed into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

“Did you get off?” Harry asked, not sure he had the ability to _do_ anything about that now, but usually Draco came whilst sucking Harry off so…

“I’m good.”

It was a non-answer, something Draco had been giving Harry a lot of these days, since the decision to go forward with the spell to relive the memories. Things had been strained, tense, and Harry couldn’t quite figure out why Draco was so put off by the whole thing considering he’d been one to go back and relive the entirety of his teenage years all over again.

Just the idea of trying to muddle through puberty was enough to turn Harry off the whole idea. Morality aside.

The problem with the dick-sucking, if it could be called that, was Harry knew it was a distraction. He’d been trying to talk to Draco for days now, because he wanted help trying to decide what memories he was going to relive, and the only person who truly understood what this all _meant_ kept putting Harry’s dick in his damned mouth every time the subject was broached.

Not that Harry didn’t appreciate the orgasms, but this was important.

“Can we talk now.”

“M’sleeping,” Draco muttered, tightening his grip on Harry’s waist.

Harry sighed, letting his hand drift up, fingers pushing into Draco’s sweaty locks, and he shuffled back just a little. “Tomorrow I have to decide. Tomorrow I do the first one, and I just…”

“Dunno why you think this is any of my business, Potter,” Draco muttered, his voice tense, much like it had been ages ago, before they were _this_.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to push Draco off him and demand that he wake up and give him a fucking proper answer like a fucking proper adult. Even if he didn’t feel much like one right now. Instead he lay there and let Draco have his sulk. He’d do this without him if he had to, but it really was the last thing he wanted. In a way, this whole thing was for the two of them—was to right Harry’s head so he felt like he could finally belong in his own skin and understand his own damned personality.

_I’m not a bad person_. He’d taken to reminding himself of that before sleep, because apart from still dreaming about the war, and the people he’d seen die, he’d also started dreaming of the ones who’d come back, all still hating him because he was nothing more than the useless prat most of the Slytherins had always thought he’d been.

*** 

Draco wasn’t there come morning, and Harry chucked his coffee mug across the room when he realised it. He cleared up the mess with a flippant spell, then sent an owl off to Draco’s office before stepping into the floo and landing on his parents’ hearth rug.

Regulus was already there, waiting with thick, fragrant Turkish coffee which was exactly what he needed. He hoped his face conveyed his thanks, because his frustration was preventing his mouth from saying anything worthwhile. 

Regulus didn’t seem bothered by it, instead leading Harry to the sofa with a warm hand on the centre of his back, and they sat in companionable silence until Harry felt properly awake, though not entirely ready to tackle this gigantic decision.

He had four memories to pick, and zero help in deciding. The cabinet holding the phials of memories, and the small pensive was just off to the right of the coffee table, and he knew he was going to have to start sorting through things soon.

“Do you have any idea where you want to begin?” Regulus asked.

Harry passed a hand down his face, disturbing his glasses, leaving a large smudge on the right lens. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “Everyone I talk to just tells me they wouldn’t know where to start helping. And the one person who probably does know won’t fucking talk to me. He just keeps taking my trousers off and…” Harry stopped, knowing his father didn’t exactly want to hear this, if the flush on his cheeks was anything to go by. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Regulus shook his head, and looked away before saying, “That’s probably genetic.”

Harry was startled into the realisation that Regulus and Draco were actually blood related, and he couldn’t help the sudden laugh. “Merlin, I don’t think I wanted to know that.”

“Fair’s fair, Haz,” Regulus said, this time with a cheeky grin which lightened the situation enough for Harry to relax a fraction. “And I know I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re looking for but…I could try to help.”

Harry gave him a grateful smile, even as he dragged the small cabinet over and flipped the latches. It opened, far larger on the inside than it appeared, and the memories were all there, in neat rows, labelled and shimmering with magic. He could make out the messy scrawl of Ron there, and the twins, most of the Weasleys, in fact. There was his dad’s loopy writing, and his mum’s, though she had far less to offer, and of course Regulus, Sirius, and Remus. He could see the well practised script of Draco as well, tucked neatly against the few Hermione had sent in via owl.

His fingers reached out, brushing over the tops of each phial, and he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to just _know_ which ones were most important. “I need,” he said, then stopped, trying to formulate exactly what it was. “I’m not sure I want to live through Padfoot or Moony’s memories of me being a twat,” he confessed, a self-deprecating smile stretching across his mouth. He appreciated the firm hand of support on the back of his neck, in spite of knowing that didn’t take away the pain his other self caused the people he loved. “I think those are right out. I mean, it might be nice to know I loved them once…”

“You did,” Regulus said, very quiet. “You were a sweet baby, Harry. You laughed a lot, loved as hard as your dad does, as hard as your mum. You were braver than they were, too. Things just got…”

“Fucked up along the way?” Harry offered. “Before school?”

“After, I think. Mostly. We spoilt you, and we knew it, and we knew there would be consequences,” Regulus said. “I don’t think we anticipated which sort.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “Sometimes I’d lay in my cupboard, when I was really little, long before Hagrid ever showed up. I’d lay there and watch the spiders, and listen to my cousin upstairs playing with his toys, and I’d sometimes wish he’d…disappear. I don’t think I understood the concept of death, but if I did, I’d probably have wished he’d die. I thought if he was gone, maybe they’d find room for me, you know? Then I’d get the bed, and the bedroom, and the computers and the race cars.”

The grip on Harry’s shoulder went iron-tight, and then Regulus’ fingers spasmed and he realised his grip. “Sorry,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Harry shook his head. “It’s…” He pursed his lips, then looked at him, imploring him to tell the truth. “Is there any part of you that thinks, good? That maybe a piece of the shitty person that I was deserved it? If you knew that other Harry had just swapped places with me and suffered instead of me, would you…let that happen?”

Regulus was quiet for a very long time, then he said, “I think I’d try and find some way to keep you both, because I don’t care what a little shit you had been in any other life, Harry. No one deserves that.”

Harry bowed his head. “You think the me that was so awful was worth saving?”

“Yes,” Regulus said, like there was no question about it.

Harry glanced at the phials again, his fingers trailing along them, stopping at George’s writing. It was wobbly and off-centre, and Harry was touched by the thought that George had just done it himself instead of letting one of his siblings do it for him. “This one feels like it’ll take ages to sort through, but I think it’s my best bet.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Regulus asked.

Harry’s mouth quirked up at the corner, and he nodded. “I’m looking for proof that I was worth saving. You believing in that isn’t…I want it to be enough, but it’s not. You’re one of my parents, and even at the height of the Death Eater’s power, even Lucius Malfoy believed his son was worth sacrificing everything for. I need to know that some person, without vested interest, thinks I was too.”

Regulus opened his mouth as if to argue, but Harry’s words sank in, and he stopped himself. Eventually he said, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. When you find the day you want to relive, just call for me. I’ll be here.”

Harry nodded, then with a heavy breath, he turned to the pensive and let the swirling light fall into the bottom. It rose, like vapour, words and whispers calling to Harry. There was so much in there, but he was prepared to deal with it. It was all he had, really. It had to be enough.

*** 

_“…and I’ll come by whenever you need. This isn’t…you won’t have to do this alone, George.”_

Harry felt the familiar whooshing sensation, and suddenly he was back on the sofa at his parents’, his head spinning, his stomach vaguely nauseated. The light in the room was different—hours had passed, and his limbs ached like he’d been running for days.

There was the smell of something, rich, creamy, spices, and his stomach churned with both hunger and sick as he attempted to clear the blur from his vision. Immersing himself in memories all day wasn’t a good thing—he knew that much from his auror training from _before_ , and he had probably pushed himself to the limits. But there had been so much, so damn much from George to sort through, and a lot of it carried the strangest pain. Almost like he could remember, like he could feel it, but not quite.

“Harry.”

It wasn’t Regulus’ voice this time, but his dad, and Harry felt the familiar sort of pain and relief mingled together at the reminder James Potter was alive. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to it, and part of him hoped he wouldn’t.

Harry glanced up, squinting at James who was holding a bowl of something steaming, and a glass of water in his hands.

“You were in there for a good four hours,” he admonished.

Harry felt his face heat up, but he didn’t attempt to defend himself as he took the food and drink. He took the water half down in one go, then stared into the bowl of sambar James had whipped up, and dug in without a lot of ceremony. It was instantly soothing, and he sat back as he let the food renew his energy, though his head had the thick, cottony feel of being in for too long.

“Did you find what you were looking for,” he asked after a long moment.

Harry sighed, pressing two fingers to his temple just shy of being painful. “I don’t…I think so? Erm. There was a lot with George, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to start there, but it seems like a good place. I mean, he’s one of the only people who seems to give a shit about you know…other me, or whatever.”

James’ face went through a complicated series of expressions Harry couldn’t quite read, then he settled back and sighed. “Can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Re…er. Dad…erm. He asked the same thing, and I want to say yes, but I’m your son. I’m not sure you can offer me what I’m looking for.”

“Proof that you aren’t a terrible person,” James said.

Harry couldn’t meet his eyes. “Proof that I could have eventually been better—done better. That I was worth you know…that hope.”

“You were,” James said, his voice almost hard.

Harry scoffed. “You say that because I’m your son. And that’s sort of the problem, innit? I’m your son, and every parent wants to believe their kid is worth saving.” He wasn’t hungry suddenly, and he slid his bowl onto the table, standing up and swiping his hands on the front of his trousers. “I need an hour or so, before we do this. I need to think.”

James nodded, and didn’t attempt to stop him as Harry strode to the fireplace. “It has to be tonight,” James called after him, just as Harry grabbed a handful of the floo powder.

Harry turned, giving him a solemn nod. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be back.” He turned away then, thinking if he had to see _that_ look in his dad’s eyes, he might just chicken out and decide none of this was worth it. But he was completely sure if he couldn’t find something, he wasn’t going to be able to live with himself. And in that case, he might as well be back in the other universe where everyone else was dead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. This chapter is longer, and pretty angsty--as this fic is going to be. IDK hopefully it's still in character enough. This is the chapter that contains Harry/George, so be prepared for that.

There’s a moment of both surprise, and absolutely no surprise when Harry stopped in front of the office door at the joke shop. It was still bustling with customers downstairs, but up the landing, there was a muffling spell which made it that much more bearable, since right now he was fairly sure his anxiety was going to have him shaking out of his skin.

Part of him wondered what it said about him that his first stop wasn’t Malfoy’s office, but then again with Draco’s shite attitude about the whole thing, he supposed it was expected. Draco seemed like he was on the verge of trying to talk Harry out of this whole endeavour and he was refusing to understand why this was so necessary.

Running a hand through his hair, he took a breath and pushed the door open. He was two steps in, then came to a screeching halt, his eyes darting away, a heavy flush rising in his cheeks. “Bugger, shit, fuck,” he cursed. “I’m sorry.”

George was at his desk, and Lee was there with him, straddling him and snogging him into oblivion. Harry was half sure if he’d showed up ten minutes later, he’d probably have a lot more than just a glimpse of Lee’s bright yellow and red tattoo which spanned most of his back.

The pair broke apart leisurely, Lee smiling as he settled easier on George’s knee. “Alright, Potter?”

Harry bit his lip, daring to look over. “Er. Yeah I…” He coughed.

“You want a word, Haz?” George offered.

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face, smudging the lens of his glasses. “I…you’re busy so I can just…”

“It’s fine. Fred’ll probably appreciate the help,” Lee said, hopping off George’s leg like it was nothing. He gave Harry a smile which was probably friendlier than Harry thought he deserved, then closed the door to the office behind him.

It was quiet a long moment, then George said, “Still with me?”

“Yeah I er…” Harry shuffled over, taking the chair nearest to George’s, and sat down with a heavy sigh. “I’ve chosen my first memory. I have to get back to my parents’ to have a go with it tonight. I just…it’s yours,” he said, feeling strangely young and vulnerable about the whole thing. “The erm…after my first loss. It seemed…” Harry didn’t quite know what it seemed. Domestic, in a way. He’d only glimpsed part of it, didn’t linger too long in it before, but he saw enough to know it was maybe what he was looking for. A human side to the other Harry.

“That’s a good one,” George said, his voice quiet. He leant forward, hand out searching until it found Harry’s knee, and he squeezed it.

Harry swallowed thickly. “Yeah I…yeah. It seemed…I mean there were loads, from right after your accident and…” Harry let out a breath. “But this seemed…I mean by this point I was an adult, so…” He felt like an idiot, unable to even complete a single sentence, but George’s hand didn’t leave his knee, and the weight was comforting. “Malfoy’s not talking to me, because I’m doing this.”

George let out a laugh, a huffing noise through his nose, and he shook his head. “Did you expect me to be surprised about that?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No. Sympathetic, maybe…”

“What? That your spoilt, twat of a boyfriend isn’t thrilled that you’re reliving memories of shagging other people?”

Harry scowled, mostly because George was right, but bloody hell, he just wanted someone to let him wallow a little bit since he was going to have to be doing a lot of kissing-arse once this whole endeavour was over with. “That shithead went and re-lived our entire time at Hogwarts, and he’s in a snit because I want to spend a few hours combing through some experiences to prove that I wasn’t always one hundred percent worthless.”

“Harry,” George said, then paused a long moment. “Harry, I don’t think you’ll find a single person in this world—not anyone who knows you—who thinks you were a hundred percent worthless.”

“Not even Remus and Sirius?” Harry challenged.

George winced, sitting back, but he shook his head all the same. “Not even them. These last few years haven’t been great. Before er…you know, the great switch or whatever. But you actually were better. Less hostile than you were as a mouthy, hormonal teenager.”

Harry flopped his head backward and stared up at the ceiling. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel better, I was trying to be honest,” George said simply.

Harry tipped his head up, then leant forward. “Did I break your heart?”

George blinked rapidly, looking rather startled at the question. “I…suppose in a way, yes. But only because I let myself get hurt knowing full well that you…” He paused, then said, “You never lied to me, Harry.”

“What…”

“You never tried to make what we had—who you were—anything more than it was. You’ll see,” he said. “I got to see a side of you that a lot of people didn’t. A side of you that was small, and quiet, and it probably wasn’t going to be a person you were outwardly. But you gave that to me, and I understood it for the gift it was. So yeah, when you finally broke things off, my heart was shredded, but it didn’t stay that way. And I’m happy now.”

Harry laughed very softly, then rose and reached out to squeeze George’s shoulder. “I guess I’ll see for myself, won’t I?”

“I think so,” George said. He rose, leading Harry to the door, leaning on it after he let it swing open. “You’ll be alright. Malfoy will eventually get his head out of his arse, because he’d been in love with you for two lifetimes, in two different universes or…whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed.

“So get this done, as quick as you can, then get on with your life. I can’t imagine any sort of Harry in any world, who does well when he wallows.”

“Fuck off,” Harry said, but was grinning a little as George pulled him into a quick hug. “I’ll send Lee back up?”

“Send him to my flat,” George said with a cheeky grin. “I think I’d like to finish out the rest of this evening without the threat of interruption.”

*** 

Harry apparated to Godric’s Hollow, landing just outside his parents’ front garden. It looked strange there—put together and perfect, and so different from the hollowed out shell it had been in his memories, or the standing memorial to his parents he’d seen when he’d come searching for information on Voldemort. To see it here, untouched, just a relic of James’ childhood and, apparently, his own, was one of the more alien things he was trying to process.

There was a light on coming from the front window, and the faint sounds of the radio. He supposed both James and Regulus were awake, would be monitoring the entire thing, and he did feel a small wave of guilt that he’d waited so damn long to finally show.

He was ready. Or well, he told himself he was ready. He was desperately trying to be.

He entered the cottage and stepped into the lounge to the surprise of his parents. Regulus was immediately on his feet at the sight of him, crossing the distance with a worried look. “You’re late,” he said, and passed a hand over the back of Harry’s head. The gesture was absent, something natural and comforting, and it made Harry go weak at the knees because all of this was just a lot and he was starting to feel alone all over again. “Did something happen?”

Harry offered him a smile, even as James stood up and carefully moved Regulus back. For all the things Harry might have assumed about his parents—taking into consideration he’d never in a million years thought Regulus Black would be involved—he hadn’t thought of the younger Black brother being the fussy one.

“I’m fine,” he promised. “I just needed to…” He trailed off with a shrug, not really wanting to say he’d gone to bother George because his own boyfriend was refusing to accept this was happening.

When it became apparent Harry had nothing left to say, James put his arm round his shoulders and led him into the back room where everything was set up. Harry would be entering a pensive, but this one filled with a potion which would allow him to truly experience the events as though he was going through them, not as a casual observer. He’d have no control, but he’d be able to feel things, to understand them on a visceral level which would give him—hopefully—the clarity he was desperately needing.

“There are some side-effects,” James said carefully as he held the phial of potion over the basin. “Nausea, headache, potential memory loss…”

“Well there’s not much I’m really holding on to,” Harry admitted with a half bitter smile. “So that’s not exactly going to hold me back.”

James’ jaw worked, then he let out a breath and nodded, pouring the potion in. He took the memory Harry had selected after, adding that to the mix. It flared an almost greenish-gold hue, then settled into the swirling silver Harry had seen before.

“I’ll be monitoring you, and if anything seems…” James bit his lip and shrugged. “I’ll pull you if it starts to go wrong.”

Harry wanted to ask how it could go wrong, what were the more dangerous effects possible, but he didn’t want to be talked out of this, and he had to put his trust in his father’s hands to know when to pull the plug.

“Thank you,” Harry said, trying to put as much honesty as he could into his words.

James reached out, gathering Harry close to him, pressing a kiss to the centre of his forehead. “Good luck,” was all he said.

With a trembling breath, Harry nodded and turned to the cauldron. His hands gripped the sides and, closing his eyes, he plunged in head-first.

*** 

Rage. The first thing he became aware of was rage. Underneath—a sort of simmering humiliation as Harry strode into the locker room. It was empty, and he was grateful for it as his foot connected with the stalls. The sting of contact took the edge off his emotions, and he took his broom—the handle cracked in half—flinging it at the wall. It hit with a loud _crack_ , then slid to the ground, and Harry felt the sting of dissatisfaction.

Breaking things was not going to turn time back, to win what they’d already lost. It wasn’t going to erase the fool of himself he’d made on the pitch—rookie mistakes and distractions enough that a team they were better than, had bested them. And it was his fault.

Underneath that, Harry could feel, was fear. Fear that everything he’d worked for, everything he’d built up in the minds of others, in the mind of himself, was fake. He was nothing but a pathetic loser and it wouldn’t be long before the son of the famed _James Potter_ knew what a waste he was.

He heard a noise and turned, startled to see a figure lurking in the doorway. He recognised him immediately, even as he stuck to the shadows. “I am really not in the mood for this, Weasley.”

“Yeah well, I think you owe me. Unless you want to back out of our bet…” George walked forward, holding his white cane in front of him in a loose grip. His feet shuffled along the floor, as though he might trip over a stray broom or helmet, but his pace was confident.

“Fuck you. You know I don’t back out of anything.”

“Well then,” George said. He reached out feeling through the air until his hand came into contact with the second row of stalls, then he rested his cane there before turning toward Harry, crossing his arms. “A locker room blow job, I believe. Those were the terms, weren’t they?”

Harry growled, frustration deep in his throat as he stalked forward, crowding George back and back until they hit the wall. With a wordless spell, Harry silenced the room, then locked the doors. He dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, not caring about the ache in his skin. Something was simmering just under the surface, straining to break free, straining to be let out, but Harry shoved it down just as he shoved the folds of George’s robes apart to find him wearing nothing there, his cock heavy between his thighs, nestled in a thatch of hair.

Harry wasted no time after that, getting his mouth around it, deep in his throat, humming and sucking the way George liked. He was a drooling mess, his hands unforgiving as they scraped up George’s thighs. He didn’t begrudge George either, when he reached down to touch along Harry’s mouth, to feel the roundness as his cock filled it.

Harry moaned softly, not because he was turned on—he was still flaccid in his kit—but moaning because that’s what he knew George wanted to hear.

George’s hands drifted from Harry’s mouth to his hair, gripping, pushing his hips just slightly, fucking him with shallow thrusts until he gasped and Harry knew in moments, he was going to come. He pulled off, and let George’s spunk catch him on the neck, on the cheek.

He’d wash it later.

What did it matter.

Harry pushed away as George righted his robes, and he cleared his throat, though his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. “Can you get the fuck out now? I need to shower and change and…deal with my team.”

George hesitated, even as he reached for his cane. “Do you want…”

“No,” Harry spat. “Why the fuck would I?”

George’s jaw tightened, only for a second, then he said, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

Then he was gone. Harry stood there a while until the room began to swirl, and the memory began to shift.

*** 

He was stood in a corridor—one he’d been in dozens upon dozens of times. The Joke Shop was eerily quiet after closing. The faint glow of fake potions on the shelves bleeding into the hallway. The room upstairs would be an office some day, but for now it was a room with a small bed, and a handful of books.

Harry knew George was in there, and he knew he was alone. His feet made a too-loud sound on the stairs as he climbed, and he was unsurprised when the door swung open on its own as Harry lifted a hand to knock.

“I really didn’t think you were going to show.” George was on his back, lying on the bed in boxers and a t-shirt which was rucked up to show his stomach. There was the faint sound of a reading spell on an open book near the bunched up duvet, and it silenced as George pushed himself up on his elbows. “Close the door, Potter.”

Harry did, with the edge of his foot. The slamming sound echoed through the room, and Harry wondered if it could mask the thudding of his heart which felt like it was trying to beat straight out of his chest. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

George laughed, laying back again. “Change your mind about the blowie?”

“No,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t… _fuck_.” His legs felt weak, his entire body shaking with emotion he tried so hard not to feel all the time.

Maybe it was his tone, maybe it was something else, but whatever it was, George reacted. He was up, crossing the room and taking Harry to his chest. He kissed him, lips rough and chapped, but the gesture was sweet more than it was hungry. It was…different, though not completely unfamiliar. Harry allowed himself very few tender moments, very few opportunities to be seen as weak.

But if anyone deserved to see him this way, it was George. George, who had never written him off no matter how shitty he’d been. George who had let Harry in when he hadn’t let anyone in. Maybe because Harry refused to believe George was breakable, was less than now, since the accident. Maybe it was because for some terrifying reason, George actually _fancied_ Harry, and that was most terrifying of all.

Because Harry knew that above all things, George deserved better than him.

“Don’t,” he said weakly, but he let George bully him to the bed, lay him out, curl up around him and hold him with a hand pressed to the centre of his chest.

He let George give him things he didn’t deserve.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Harry scoffed. “Do you fucking think I do?”

George’s only reply was a shrug.

Then silence fell. George’s hand began to run up and down his sternum, seeking but without wanting anything from him. Harry realised it was a touch of comfort, something he hadn’t experienced in longer than he cared to remember—since he was a child, since he’d started pushing people away out of fear of appearing weak.

In that moment, he couldn’t even remember why the fear was there, couldn’t remember a single reason why he’d started posturing, started trying to become someone else, someone other than what his family expected him to be. The ache bloomed from his heart, to his limbs, making his fingers tingle, and the breath that escaped his lungs was shaking.

“Why?” he managed. “Why are you…why are we…?”

George pushed his nose into the back of Harry’s neck, breathing him in, holding him close, holding him _together_ as he felt seconds from shaking apart. “Because I love you.” When Harry made a noise of protest, George bit him on the shoulder gently to quiet him. “I do, and you can tell me yet again what a bloody idiot I am for loving you, or how love is for weak fools, or how you’ve told me repeatedly not to waste my time because you can’t give me what I want. I know that, Potter. I’ve known you for too long. I know what a piece of shit you are, but I also know there’s more there, no matter how hard you try to bury it. And it doesn’t excuse what a terrible person you’ve been, but you gave me something more than you gave the others, and the least I can do is this.”

“This,” Harry repeated in a quiet voice.

“Comfort. Remind you that in spite of it all, I’m still here.”

Harry twisted in his arms, a sort of desperation flooding through him to cling on to this single moment which made him feel so much better than anything had in too damn long. He was tired. He was young, but he felt a hundred years old suddenly—a bitter old man taking comfort from the bottom of a firewhiskey bottle, and what…what the fuck was he doing, really?

He did the only thing he could do in the moment, the only way he knew how to make George understand that he did feel more, and that he appreciated it. He kissed him. Not the biting, angry kisses, but a long, slow, drawn out push-pull, a little wet as he pushed his tongue along George’s. Hands were everywhere, tugging at robes, exposing overheated skin to air.

Harry groaned as George’s lips found the sensitive crook in his neck, and he basked in the gasp as Harry’s hand went low, low on George’s back, pressing just between his cheeks to rub at his hole. He wouldn’t go there tonight, not with the way things were. Instead he pushed George down to the sheets, crawled between his legs, and took him into his mouth.

George’s hands scrabbled at the bedding, then found their way into Harry’s hair to guide him in a moment far more tender, far more focussed on George’s pleasure than it had been earlier. And after Harry swallowed the taste of George down, he didn’t protest as George pushed him over and took Harry’s cock into his hand, and stroked him. His foreskin slid, slick and perfect in George’s hand as he worked him up, up, then over the edge, and Harry cried out the moans of his orgasm into George’s neck.

They came down together, trading slow, soft kisses as the air in the room cooled their overheated skin. Harry let George draw him close, hold him, bask in a moment so rare, Harry couldn’t quite recall if he’d shared something like this with anyone.

The idea that he could have this forever, that this could be his, weighed heavy over him, the Sword of Damocles which was perhaps a bit overdramatic, but it didn’t change the fact that succumbing to all of it was terrifying. It was too late to turn back now, he knew. Too late to be a better person worthy of anything he’d been given at birth. His fathers, who had stood by him in spite of spitting in their face and using his youth to do whatever he could to hurt them. His godfathers who couldn’t look him in the eye. His mother, who he could not blame for fleeing the country the moment she was given leave. He wouldn’t have stuck around for a son like him, either.

He didn’t deserve this—not George, not anything that came along with him. He knew himself too well, knew he’d never be good enough for it.

He waited though, until George’s breathing was even, and he could slip out unnoticed. He considered leaving a note, spelling it to read out when George came to, but that would be too much like the man George thought he was. And he wasn’t that at all.

So he simply pushed his feet into his shoes, gathered his robes, and let the door click shut behind him as he wandered into the hall, and the memory faded into nothing.

*** 

Harry became aware first of arms around him, then of his shaking, then of the wetness on his cheeks. He hurried to swipe it away with the sleeve of his robes before he could bring himself to look in James’ eye. He hadn’t been pulled from the memory, and in spite of a little vertigo, the rest of the world seemed…normal. Or as normal as it ever seemed these days.

He sniffed, then offered a half, self-deprecating laugh as he pushed away from his father and stood up.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” James asked softly.

Harry didn’t quite know how to answer that. He thought he’d been prepared for it, thought he’d readied himself to understand the sort of person he’d been without the Dursleys, without Voldemort, without being an orphaned pig to the slaughter.

And in a way he wasn’t surprised by any of it. Not by himself, not by his actions, not by George’s tenderness and willingness to give him something he hadn’t earnt. But at the same time there hadn’t been any way to prepare himself for _feeling_ it all, accepting who he was, and why he’d done it.

And the worst part of it was, it was for nothing. Harry had turned himself into a bigoted, spoilt monster for no reason other than some misguided superiority complex because he felt his family was…too good? Because he felt unnecessarily unworthy of their affections because he’d gone through a twat phase during puberty?

His other self had been angry and cruel all because he felt like he’d been angry and cruel for too long to consider changing.

Anger rushed through him—the anger of a boy who’d grown up with less than nothing, and had walked into a world where he’d been prepared to be a ritual sacrifice, and would have given anything to have parents—even parents who resented him a little. He would have given _anything_ to have a childhood of teenage rebellion, only because he’d have the change to make up for it, and still _have_ them.

He supposed his other self wouldn’t have had the ability to understand what he was choosing not to have, and the weight of it, but it didn’t make it easier to swallow. Part of the question was answered. The other Harry _was_ , somewhere deep down, not an inherent monster. And yet he chose to play the part of one…because. Just…because. For no real reason at all, at least not one that this Harry understood.

He’d squandered love and affection for the aesthetic of douchebag.

He wanted to punch something.

He also wanted to drop to his knees and beg the forgiveness of a man he no longer was, and he knew that in the eyes of his family, there wouldn’t be a point. They couldn’t forgive a man who no longer existed.

“Harry?”

Harry blinked, then stared at his dad for the first time since coming out of the memories. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…think I need…” He cleared his throat when his voice began to crack, and he rolled his shoulders backward. “I need to think about some stuff. Can I take a day?”

“Yes,” James said, then looked tense for a second before crossing the room and taking Harry’s face between his palms. “Take as much time as you need. And if you can’t do this again…”

Harry nodded, wanting to both pull away from the touch, and fling himself into James’ arms and let himself be comforted. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to put yourself through any more pain, you know,” James reminded him softly, his hazel eyes searching Harry’s. “You don’t owe penance for the past.”

Harry closed his eyes softly, breathed out, then nodded. “It’s not for that.”

James looked unsure, but he pulled Harry close and kissed the centre of his forehead before letting him go. “Take the floo home. You look dead on your feet, and I don’t want you splinching yourself.”

Sometimes parental concern—the fact that he had it now, from his own father, was almost too much. He took a step back, then thought of his bed at home, and of Draco in it, and the cold shoulder he was still getting from his boyfriend.

After the memory of George, he wasn’t sure he could take it. “Can I stay here?” he asked in a small voice.

James blinked in surprise, then took him by the robes and pulled him close again. “You don’t ever have to ask that, you know.”

Harry just shrugged, because he wasn’t at a place yet that he didn’t still feel like a guest under this roof.

“Come on, I’ll walk you up,” James said.

Harry nodded, bowing his head slightly as he followed James up the stairs, and into the place the other self—who felt like he deserved none of this—called home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next- confrontation with Draco, more chats with family.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter interlude. I'm not entirely sure when the next update will be, but I can tell you it'll definitely be longer than this one, and hopefully a bit quicker. Term is almost over, so more writing time! *throws confetti*
> 
> Brief warnings for this chapter: momentary panic attack (not detailed, and it's averted, but to avoid, skip over Harry, Sirius, and James talking about the Triwizard Tournament), and Draco and Harry have a sort-of row where Draco is drunk at the end.

With a bottle of water tucked up under his arm, Harry walked into the gym and froze. He’d come in early in hopes that a long run would help clear his head from the memory dive the night before, and he hadn’t expected anyone to be in so early. He supposed it was only a slight shock to see Draco there, stood near the window with his arms folded over his chest, his thin face set in a glower as Harry crossed the room.

His lungs exhaled a sigh as he gave his lover a careful look. “Good morning.”

“Really.” Draco’s tone was flat, a sign of his anger. “That’s what you have to say? You fuck off into a cauldron of memories with a spell that could have very-well cooked your brain, and you say good morning.”

“Reckon it isn’t one,” Harry said.

“You might have died, you know,” Draco hissed as Harry pushed past him to get on the treadmill.

Raising a brow, Harry said, “I didn’t realise you cared.”

As the words left his mouth, Harry found himself flying backward, falling onto his back with Draco leant over him, his wand pointed at Harry’s face. “The next one won’t be so soft,” he said through clenched teeth.

With a well-timed kick, Harry’s foot made contact with Draco’s elbow, and his wand went flying. He pushed to his feet, breathing heavy out through his nose, their gazes locked on each other. “Haven’t done this in a while. In this universe,” Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes, then shouldered his way past Harry, pushing his wand into his robes. “Fuck you, Potter.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Harry said, throwing up his hands in frustration. When Draco turned, Harry’s expression went hard. “You give me the gift of this new life, of my family, but you make it so I kept all the bad shit. You throw me into a world where I’m a bigoted piece of shit, and I’m trying to make amends, but I reckoned you, of all blood people, would understand why I need…more.”

Emotion swam in Draco’s eyes, though Harry couldn’t quite read it.

“Instead of understanding, you act like it’s a personal attack on you,” Harry went on, not giving Draco an out just yet. “You act as though I’m somehow trying to spite you, and fuck’s sake, Malfoy! You did this all for me, for us—to live in a world where we can be together and it makes sense, and it’s safe, and you won’t even give me a second to…”

“To what? See what you’ve missed? To continue your fucking martyr complex?” Draco spat. “To waste even more years of your life wallowing in guilt over a person you actually aren’t.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Harry said, his voice quiet with hurt. “And I think you know it. Whether or not you want to admit it.”

Draco’s jaw clenched, then he took a step back. “Fine. Whatever. Maybe next memory when you decide not to come home, send me an owl and let me know you haven’t died.”

Harry swallowed thickly, realising if the positions had been swapped, he would be feeling the same hurt. “I’m sorry,” he said.

At that, Draco just laughed. “I’m sure.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. And…I know this is hurting you, for whatever reason—and I hope you tell me at some point why this is so…” Harry shrugged, trailing off. “But you need to realise this isn’t about you. It’s not about _us_.”

Draco said nothing, then turned on his heel and disappeared with a loud crack.

With a heavy sigh, Harry half contemplated going after him, but his day was too full. He had training, and after that, he had a load of memories to sort through, to take the next step on his journey to figure himself out. Whatever Draco was dealing with, Harry just hadn’t the time to force his lover to come clean. They’d get through it, besides. They’d gotten through a lot worse.

*** 

Harry arrived at James’ office at half four, just before James was done for the day. Sirius was there, twirling his wand and watching as lazy sparks shot from the end, but he stood as Harry pushed his way in.

“Sorry,” Harry said, feeling his face go hot. “I…your secretary said you weren’t busy and…”

“Nah, we’re not,” James said, giving Harry a small grin. “Sirius was trying to avoid his paperwork…”

“Lies,” Sirius said with a grin.

Harry rolled his eyes, then eased into the chair next to his godfather. “I thought I’d pop over and see about getting a pint before we…you know…”

“Take another plunge?” James asked.

Harry nodded, stealing a look at Sirius who was watching hi curiously. “You can ask me about it, you know,” Harry said.

Sirius’ gaze flickered to James before he said, “How was it?”

“Strange,” Harry admitted. “More draining than I thought it was going to be. When I came out of it, it felt a bit like that fog during the Tri-Wizard tournament…” He stopped when he remembered he hadn’t done that in this life.

“Mad,” James muttered.

Harry raised a brow. “Was a bit, yeah. I mean, I didn’t actually want to participate, but it’s not like I had a choice…”

“Bollocks,” Sirius spat. “It’s not a binding bloody contract. Not to an underage student. Your dad would have threatened Bagman within an inch of his life…”

“I would have,” James said with a nod.

Harry blinked, realising in that moment it was likely Dumbledore hadn’t even tried to let him out of it. Had put his life in danger to see how it all played out—to see what the next move was. And it had cost Cedric his life. It had…

Harry shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, even as his chest constricted with a wave of panicked grief. He was lost in the feeling until a warm hand touched his face, and he glanced up to see James hovering over him, his eyes narrow with concern.

“Haz…?”

“Sorry,” Harry gasped, pulling away to yank his glasses from his face and scrub at his eyes. “Sorry I…that was…” He took in a trembling breath.

“I know,” James said.

He and Sirius both know, had both seen it in the memories Harry had given them. They knew it was the moment Peter had killed Cedric, had bound Harry, stolen his blood, and brought the Dark Lord back. Harry had survived on panic and sheer luck, and the ghost of his parents protecting him. The years of nightmares after ensured he would never forget a moment of it.

“I think a pint is definitely in order,” Sirius said, slapping his hands on this thighs before he stood. “My treat, yeah?”

*** 

They headed round the corner to the Witch’s Brew, a good choice, Harry decided, as he wasn’t really in the mood to speak in code to protect muggles. They hunkered down at a table in a darker corner of the room with three pints, and a basket of the pub’s fresh baked bread between them.

“Can I ask you both something?” Harry said after nursing half his pint, and both James and Sirius nodded. “When I was…at my worst—other me, I mean—was there ever a moment you gave up hoping I would sort of…be better?”

James and Sirius exchanged glances, and then James took a slow breath before answering. “There’s not really an easy answer to that, kiddo. I’m your dad, and I’ve loved you since the second I knew you were coming into this world. And I don’t think there was ever a moment I stopped _hoping_ you’d…” He sighed, shrugging. “I blamed myself. I think I spent years wondering what I’d done wrong, where I’d failed you. I wondered if it wasn’t being away so often, you know? Before Hogwarts, I was never home, and after you were…”

“In a sea of peers instead of being parented,” Harry offered.

Sirius laughed softly. “Sometimes that works out for the better, you know.”

Harry couldn’t help the surge of fondness he felt for his godfather, for knowing how he’d grown up—what he’d gone through, and what James and the others had meant to him. “Yeah, I know. My first go round, it saved me, I think. If I’d had to spend the next seven years with the Dursleys…” He stopped at James’ dark look. “But I reckon it can go both ways. In my world, Regulus was surrounded by Death Eaters. He made the right choice in the end, I suppose. But not before he made some wrong ones.”

Sirius’ gaze flickered down to his hands which were clutching at his pint glass. “Like your dad said, there’s no easy answer to your question. I don’t know that any of us had given up hoping, but I think there was a moment of resignation that we’d lost the Harry we’d tried to raise.”

Harry nodded, feeling his throat tight with emotion, with frustration at the other version of himself who had squandered so bloody much. Not for the first time he felt a strange temptation to re-work the fob watch, to give in and let himself relive his life and take what he was owed.

“I still don’t entirely know what I’m looking for,” he admitted. “I want to know that I had…potential. I think. I need to know that I’m not only a good person because life was shit. But it feels more than that, you know? Maybe it sounds stupid, but I think I’ll only really know what I’m looking for when I find it.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” James said, reaching over and clasping Harry’s shoulder. “You’re here now, you’re with us and that’s not going to change. We’ve seen to it, so you have all the time in the world, Haz. Alright? And you’ve got us at your back.”

Harry smiled gratefully at him, then at Sirius who had mostly stopped looking at him as the little shit who had spent so many years being so awful. He drained his pint, then pushed up from the table. “I think I need to go see Malfoy for a bit. Then I’ll be over to take another dive into the pensive.”

“We’ll be there, whenever you’re ready,” James assured him.

Harry nodded, wanting to say something in parting—to find a way to convey his gratitude for them sticking by him, as much as he might not have entirely deserved it. But he couldn’t find the words, so he simply gave a short wave, and headed out of the pub.

*** 

Harry didn’t know what it said about him, or about their relationship, that he felt surprised to find Draco at home sat in the lounge with a glass of firewhiskey pinched between long fingers. Draco didn’t seem startled to find Harry there at all, acknowledging him with a faint grunt as Harry sat a cushion away from him.

“Finished early, have you?” he finally asked.

“Haven’t gone yet.” Harry dragged a hand down his face with a heavy sigh, wanting all of this to be over—wanting whatever it was that had crawled up Draco’s arse to crawl back out so his boyfriend could finally fucking make sense again.

Draco tipped the whiskey back, then turned his head toward Harry. It was clear by the glassy look in his eyes, he was pissed. He was beyond pissed, in fact, gone enough he likely wouldn’t remember this in the morning. “Come for a goodbye kiss, then?”

“I’m not kissing you when you’re like this,” Harry complained.

“Never stopped you before,” Draco sneered. He leant forward to put his glass on the table, but missed, and watched as it rolled on its side. “Fuck.” He kicked at it with his foot, but when that did nothing, he flopped backward. “You never had a problem taking down a bottle of whiskey and sucking my cock. Why the sudden crisis of morality, Potter?”

“Because that wasn’t me,” Harry said through clenched teeth. He stood, one hand flying to his hair to tug on it. “That wasn’t bloody me, Malfoy, and you know it.”

“Sound the same, the pair of you. Do that too,” Draco slurred, and waved his hand at Harry’s which was ruffling through his hair. “Dead dad and you still do it.”

Harry felt his face heat up, and he took a step away from his boyfriend who was looking at him slightly cross-eyed. “I’m doing this because even though you know me, you’re still confusing me for him, and I’m not sure I ought to be loved if I’m like that.”

“Such a fucking romantic, Potter,” Draco sneered. He attempted to get up, but the movement proved to be too much and he couldn’t manage more than flopping onto his stomach. “Liked you better the other way.”

“Fuck me,” Harry whispered to himself, the statement hitting him like a punch to the gut.

“Didn’t have to worry about…about…” Draco stopped, then his face went a funny shade of green, which had Harry backing up even further. Draco swallowed, then swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Knew where you stood then, didn’t I? Knew how you felt, what you wanted. This is all…complicated.”

“I thought you did this for me,” Harry replied softly. “For this me.”

“Too convoluted. Bring me some water,” he commanded.

Harry bit his lip, then said, “Get it yourself. I have something to do.”

Draco muttered something else, but Harry missed it, instead diving for the fireplace, and throwing the floo powder into the flames before he could second guess himself.

When he landed on his parents’ rug in front of the hearth, he was even more determined to figure out not only himself, by why the person who had done this to him, was suddenly missing the old person he’d once been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've the need to shout at me, my tumblr is [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> any questions, please feel free to come yell at me at [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)


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